Blood of My Brother
by CeCe Away
Summary: So how is Dean going to get rid of the Mark of Cain?


**Been enjoying several fics on how Season 10's dilemma might be resolved so thought I'd throw my own in the mix. I'd say watch out for spoilers, but nah, don't worry about that cuz this is much too easy a fix for the show's writers. But do watch out for brotherly angst. Enjoy. **

**Blood of My Brother**

"How did you find me?"

Sam studied Cain over the porch railing between them. He wasn't what he expected. Worn farm clothes, suspenders, faded brown hair long over the ears, grayish beard, unassuming manner. There was nothing about Cain to indicate he was the First Knight of Hell.

"No demon activity in the area, or unusual omens," Sam gave him the honest answer. "Only acreage in a hundred mile radius that is thriving in the recent storms while the rest of the farms are suffering from root rot." Sam shrugged, trying to keep the hope brimming in his chest from squeaking out through his voice. "Tiller of the earth and all. I took a chance."

Cain snorted and crossed back over his porch to sit in a rustic rocking chair. He placed his elbows on the arms, taking an easy posture, though there was no easiness thrumming through the tense lines of his body. "You've wasted a trip. I have nothing for you, Sam."

Sam expected Cain to say this, but his chest tightened just the same. He lifted his foot up to the lowest porch step. "Take it back," he growled, a shadowy reflection of his brother's tone of impatience.

Cain leaned forward in his chair, eyes hard and piercing. "You don't make demands of me. Boy."

Sam internally flinched, but kept his composure outwardly quiet. "Tell me this: Is it even possible? Could you take the mark back if you wanted?"

Cain's lips thinned. He stared at Sam for an indeterminable moment. "I don't know. But it doesn't matter because there is nothing above or below that could convince me to try."

Nodding, Sam swallowed. He knew it wouldn't be that easy and truthfully he couldn't blame Cain for wanting to remain free of the mark. "Is there…is there anything you can tell me? You were able to control the anger, you set the blade aside, tossed it in the ocean, fell in love…"

Cain's hands curled tightly upon the arms of the rocker. "You want to know if your brother can control the effect of the blade."

Sam nodded.

"He can." Cain rose out of the chair, leaving it to rocking. "Given enough centuries." He stepped forward to the edge of the porch, towering above the young hunter. "Unfortunately you'll never see it and then all Dean will have is his regrets."

"Is there a way to remove the mark? Any way at all?" Sam knew he sounded desperate. Why wouldn't he? He was desperate.

Cain took a step down toward him. "Son, right now your brother's emotions are being fed the desires of the first blade. It craves madness, anger, and misery." Cain's voice held a faraway pitch. "It wants blood. As much as it can get. And more specifically, your blood."

"My blood?"

"You haven't figure that out yet? You didn't realize why your brother got as far away from you as he could?"

"I suspected." Sam ran a hand back through his hair.

"But you didn't want to believe it." Cain nodded in understanding. "Denial won't help you. Not in this. The first blade was created by the taking of my brother's blood. Once it lapped up Abel's blood, then I created the Knights of Hell and lay siege to the world, its thirst was finally sated. For a time. It went dormant. For centuries. That's how I was able to resist the rage. But now with a new bearer of the mark… Another set of brothers… Son, you don't want to get anywhere near that unholy blade. The only thing you'll find is death."

"Unless I can find a way to release Dean from the mark. Is there a way? What can I do?" Sam hadn't realized he'd climbed up the remainder of the steps until he was on an even level with the First Knight of Hell.

"There is no way."

"There's always a way!" Sam's chest lifted and fell with the weight of his desperation. He looked Cain straight on not budging. He wasn't leaving without answers. And then he saw it, indecision in Cain's eyes, the miniscule twitch of his jaw. He did know something, or at least had his own suspicions of a way.

Sam's pulse roared to life, flooding his ears with the rapid pounding of his heartbeat.

Cain stared back at him, unflinching, as though in challenge for Sam to come to it on his own. Had he already given him the answer? Sam went back over everything Cain had just said, every inflection, every nuance of his body language…until it hit him.

Stunned, his legs buckled. He stumbled, his foot fell to the step just below until he caught his balance. He turned wide eyes up to Cain, his voice a strained mixture of hope and disbelief. "Can it really be that simple?"

"Simple?" Cain barked out a harsh laugh. "There's nothing simple about it. I suggest you go on about your life and forget about your brother." He turned to go back to his chair.

"Did you?"

Cain stopped, one foot on the edge of the porch. The lines of his back stiffened. He looked back over his shoulder, his face so creased with sorrow it hurt to look upon. "Did I ever forget my brother? After several millennia?" He shook his head. "No. Not one day."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~BLOOD OF MY BROTHER~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He got there in the late afternoon and worked as quietly as he could, his heart in his throat the entire time he pulled up the edges of the worn carpet and painted the devil's trap on the dirty floor beneath. All but the last line. He couldn't have the demons figure out they were trapped until Dean was there or it'd blow the whole set up. Sam scanned the dingy 8 by 10 bar room, the turned up ends of the dingy carpet and the paint beneath encircling almost the entire rectangular room. He'd give it a good half hour to dry before he tacked the carpet back down. This was going to work. This had to work. His intel was good. He'd gotten a lucky break. One of the demons he'd nabbed actually knew something. He'd carved the information out of him so viciously there wasn't room for lies between his screams. Crowley was meeting a bunch of his cronies here tonight and the demon swore Dean was going to make a rare appearance. He didn't know why. Hell, Sam didn't care. It was enough that in a few hours Dean would be walking in through that door.

Sam straightened from his crouch, the spray paint can loose in his long fingers. He'd finally get to see his brother, speak with him. He'd tried to summon Dean so many times these past months, but it had never worked. His older sibling was as elusive as water running through sand. Even the demons rarely saw him and when they did, they wished they hadn't. They feared him. Sam worked moisture back into his throat, worried. What if the rage of the blade had consumed him? Would he be so much different? Would Dean even care about him anymore? It didn't matter. Sam set the paint down. He had work to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~SUPERNATURAL FOREVER~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was late before the first demons arrived. Sam remained hidden inside an unused broom closet, watching through the uneven space where the warped door didn't quite align with the doorjamb. He'd been there before the bar tender arrived—demon—and switched on the low lights and began setting the bar up for customers. Not that there'd be any of the paying kind coming tonight. Sam watched for any indication that the guy noticed something out of sorts. He told himself to relax. Few people or demons would notice old carpeting had been pulled up and then tacked down again.

Ten or so demons had come in as far as Sam could tell as they moved in and out of his narrow limited view. Smoke soon hazed the air. What was it with demons and cigarettes? They were a rowdy bunch, tossing back drinks, and bragging about how many humans they had taken out. Hearing the obscenities, Sam's jaw was tense by the time Crowley sauntered in and the atmosphere of the room settled.

"Well now fellows. Good of you to come." He sounded like any administrator beginning a work meeting.

One of the more belligerent demons puffed his chest out. "So where's this Knight of Hell? When do we get to see how tough he really is? Where's Winchester?"

Sam flinched, hearing his name. For a moment he thought they'd found him out.

"Relax, boys. All in good time." Crowley held his hands up and then crossed to the bar. "You'll get your crack at him if that's what you really want."

"Of course that's what we want." Loudmouth turned to follow Crowley's movement to the bar, scowling as Crowley calmly tested the scotch set out for him. "New player, an ex-hunter at that, waltzes in and thinks he's better than us."

Crowley looked in his drink. "He is better than you. The lot of you. But don't bother to take my word for it." Crowley's eyes flicked up over the rim of his glass. "I'm only your sovereign after all."

So that's what this little meet and greet was about. A pissing match for dominance. Sam wondered if this was Crowley's idea or Dean's though it had Dean's way of doing things stroked in bold red letters. Every new school they'd been to if there was a problem, Dean had narrowed down the ring leader, challenged him to meet with a group of his friends, just enough people to see the ring leader's ass kicked, and spread the word that there was a new badass in school. In the darkness of the closet, Sam grinned. No matter what the mark was doing to him, Dean was still Dean.

He heard the main door swing open again. All the heads in the room swiveled. The wedge in the closet door didn't give Sam a view of the door. His breath stilled in his chest.

"Which one of you is Dunghole?" a deep growly voice challenged everyone in the room and sent Sam's pulse to racing. Dean. How he'd missed his brother's voice.

"Name's Dunhill." The loudmouth burly biker type demon flicked his cigarette to the floor where it started to burn a dark smudge into the ratty carpet.

"Whatever," Dean said and finally stepped into view. Sam sucked in a breath. He didn't know what to expect, hints of demonic rage ravaging Dean's presence maybe, but his brother looked good. Strong and fit, the lean lines of his hard body pulsing with energy while his muscles were loose in that quiet predatory manner that was sheer unadulterated Dean. A croc lying in wait at the river's edge. He held the first blade along the side of his leg. Dunhill was an antelope about to get pulled into the Nile.

Sam soaked the sight of his brother in like a hit of caffeine. Before he could recalculate the odds of what he was doing, he pushed the closet door open.

Everyone was so focused on the two men in the middle of the room no one noticed him behind them.

"Let's do this, Winchester." Dunhill began stripping his leather jacket off.

Rolling his eyes, Dean turned slightly toward the bar and Crowley as if walking away from the confrontation, his signature move when throwing his first punch. Take 'em by surprise. His fist bunched, arm rotated forward…

"Dean."

…and stopped midair. Dean's head jerked. Every gaze in the room swiveled and clamped onto Sam.

No one spoke.

A myriad of emotions flashed across Dean's face before settling into one of anger.

Before either brother could say anything, Dunhill sneered. "How sweet of you. You brought us a pretty plaything for the celebratory afterparty. Almost makes me want to break your bones quicker than I'd intended just to get to dessert." He cocked his head. "Or maybe I'll take my time anyway. Now that we know where he is, little Sammy can wait his turn. Boys…" He didn't take his eyes off Dean. "Grab the kid." Three of the demons started toward Sam.

"My name…" Sam toed up the edge of the thin carpet that he hadn't tacked down. "Is Sam." Crouching, he took the spray can and filled in the final line of the devil's trap and then stood to watch the demons come within inches of him and slam into an invisible barrier. Was that a pleased tilt to Dean's lips?

The demons snarled, pushing against the barrier. The others tried to flee out the door, shoving at each other to get out or trying to get at Sam who stood just outside the devil's trap between it and the broom closet. Dean remained calm, a lone figure in the center of the room. Crowley leaned against the bar, watching the show.

"Sam." Dean's voice carried over the mayhem. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to talk."

Dean shook his head. "We have nothing to say."

The demons quieted, looking from one brother to the other, realizing this wasn't a trap the Knight of Hell had set, but a trap for him.

Dean walked to the main door, the demons parting for him like he was a shark cutting through minnows. "You need to stay away from me, Sam." And Dean stepped over the line they both knew was beneath the ratty carpet.

Sam's heart dropped to his toes. The devil's trap couldn't hold Dean and Dean had known it. What the hell kind of demon was he?

The others howled, must have realized that with Dean out of the trap, Sam would simply walk away, leave them trapped indefinitely—or exorcise them.

"Dean, wait." Sam put every note of pleading he could muster into his tone. It must have worked because Dean paused, his palm on the door. "Please, just hear me out."

Dean lowered his head as though holding on to his last dregs of refusal. "Sam." His voice caught. He pulled in a heavy breath. "Leave it be." He looked up and to the side, met Sam's gaze on the other side of the room. "Don't look for me again." His throat column tensed. "I'm not the man you knew. I'm no longer your brother." He palmed the door partway open.

Sam's already breaking heart shattered at Dean's words, even knowing why he said them. The blade craved Sam's blood so Dean was putting as much distance as he could between them. If he let Dean walk out that door, he would never see him again. He had no doubts about that. But Sam was desperate. He knew what he had to do.

"Then it won't matter to you if I cross over this line."

"Every muscle in Dean's shoulders tightened. He let the door swing back closed. He turned, scowling. His eyes flashed a menacing black. "Don't test me."

Sam was past the point of tests or games.

The demons stilled in anticipation.

Staring at Dean, Sam crossed into the devil's trap…and all hell broke loose.

It seemed like every demon in the bar rushed him. Before Sam got in more than four or five punches, the demons were thrown off of him, ripped away in a stream of power.

Lowering the protective arm he'd lifted in front of his face, Sam straightened to stare at the scene happening just a few scant feet away. Stuck in the devil's trap, the demons were now fighting for their lives. Sam was no longer a concern for them, but rather rushing Dean en masse in order to survive. He was relentless, a blur of movement, tossing some into the invisible wall and holding them there with his power while taking on several more the good old fashioned way with blade and fists because Dean enjoyed taking his pound of flesh out of anything that threatened his brother.

He swirled and cut, the lethal jawbone sluicing liquidly through flesh, and then continued through with the path the blade was committed to. Screaming black smoke streamed around him. Dean had always been extraordinary in a fight, yet this was a thing of magnificence. Beautiful in the lethal ebb and flow. Sam couldn't take his eyes off him.

Suddenly Crowley was standing beside Sam, his own round eyes riveted on the fight. "So Moose, what's this all about then?" Crowley's accent pulled Sam back to his purpose. He blinked, swallowed. "I'm…I'm getting my brother back."

"Ah, yes. Good plan, get him all riled up using the blade on demons and in such a violent state he won't have any control. Sam, I tell you this for your own good. Run while Dean's busy. Has your sheer stubbornness blinded you to the fact that Dean's only wetting the first blade's appetite. Once he gets going, he can't stop. Not even for you. That thing wants to take your blood."

Sam flinched at the warning. "It can't take my blood. Not if I give it."

"Give it? What the soddin—"

But Sam didn't hear Crowley anymore, his voice, the grunts and flesh impacting flesh of fighting, faded to a low murmur of echoy sound. He was moving in. Dean's side was to him, the blade sliding through a demon's neck and moving on a downward arc to punch into Dunhill's abdomen. Dunhill, who Sam shoved out of the way and took his place.

The first sound Sam heard clearly again was his own grunt. Everything came to a standstill. The air seemed to shimmer.

He looked at the gnarly teeth of the jawbone, the other side of the sharpened edge beyond sight beneath layers of flannel and cotton and his own flesh. His hands held the blade next to Dean's on the handle.

He lifted his gaze to horrified green eyes.

"Sam," Dean rasped.

Then Sam was falling, sliding off the first blade. Pain radiated through his stomach when he hit the floor.

Dean stared down at him in a state of shock and horror.

"No, Sam. What did you do? Why would you do that?"

Dean dropped to his knees, the blade still rooted to his palm, crimson with blood. The blood of demons. The blood of his brother. "Why would you do that?"

Sam tried to speak, winced, tried again. "To save you." It was the sheen of a whisper.

Dean's lips parted, his hand hovered over Sam as though afraid to touch him. His expressive features crumpled with devastation and denial. Whatever the mark had turned him into, Dean was no demon.

"Dean." Sam lifted his hand away from the long wound in his stomach—what did keeping pressure on it matter—and reached for his brother.

A stifled sob hitched from Dean and he latched onto Sam's proffered hand like a lifeline, clenching so tightly it hurt, but Sam reveled in the pain, refocusing it from his abdomen and squeezed back just as hard, feeling calloused skin slick with blood between their palms.

"Just…hold on." Dean husked. "Hold on to me. Focus on—mahhh!"

Dean suddenly curled over his knees, his forehead hit and ground into Sam's thigh, the hold on his hand became fierce enough to snap bones. Tremors rolled through Dean. The mark on his arm, the one still clenching the first blade started to glow. The surreal light pulsed through the sleeves of his jacket and shirt.

"Dean," Sam gritted, attempting to push up to somehow help. "Dean."

The tremors racketing Dean's body scared him. This was what he wanted, right? The mark scored off, if that's even what was happening. Dean's limbs were locked up so tight Sam feared he might have just killed his brother.

"Guh!" Sam cried out, the bones in his hand breaking within Dean's superhuman locked grip. It was worth it. All worth it. Broken hand, his blood pooling on the aged carpet beneath him, the slippery feel of detachment of slipping away…

"Sam!" Dean cried for him in his agony. His head jolted up, jerking violently and he fell away to his back, wrenching his hand away from Sam's where he shuttered and jerked upon the floor. It was terrible to watch, helpless to do anything for him. Then on an intelligible cry, Dean arched off the floor, back bowed, head grounding, and the first blade lit up, one sharp burst, then dulled and slowly dissolved away until there was nothing left but bone dust.

Dean screamed and screamed and screamed, a guttural marrow-deep mallet of awful sound. A gathering of what looked like crackling sparking light engulfed him completely, head to toe, then flickered away, leaving Dean a shaking, shivering husk on the bar room floor.

"Dean!" Sam cried out. "Dean!"

Dean's fingers twitched, one leg straightened. Then he rolled to his side, groaning and scrabbled to pull his sleeves up over where the mark should be. His shaky fingers grazed over unblemished skin. Trembling, he dragged wonder-filled eyes onto Sam.

Tears leaked onto Sam's cheeks, trailing across his nose and into his hair with how he lay on his side. He spoke past the lump in his throat. "Dean? Are you still…?"

"There's no demon in him." Crowley's footfalls lifted dust from the carpet.

Human. Sam's vision hazed with sudden tears. Human. His brother was human. Nothing else mattered. Dean was okay. He'd be okay now.

"Back away," Crowley hissed.

Sam tilted his head to see the King of Hell had his arm stretched toward Dunhill and the only other surviving demon who were edging toward Dean.

"Back away or I'll exorcize you myself," Crowley warned them.

Unhappy, but wary, the two demons backed to the other side of the devil's trap and waited, glaring.

To Sam's surprise, Crowley came behind him and sat on the floor and pulled Sam's head and shoulders into his lap, mussing his tailored suit. "You need to keep pressure on that." He maneuvered Sam's limp arms across the gaping wound and pressed his own hands down on them.

Sam moaned at the pressure which drew Dean out of his stupor. He pushed up to his hands and knees and began crawling. "Get away from him, Crowley," he growled.

Crowley tsked. "I'm the only one here who can keep him alive."

Dean's slow crawl stumbled at that.

"No," Sam quickly cried, though it tumbled past his lips more of a whimper. "No demon deals. I just got you back. Please, Dean, no. This is…worth it. It's worth it. I finally saved you."

Dean got close. "It's not worth it to me." He cradled Sam's face between his palms. "I didn't want to be human. Not like this. Sam, what did you do?"

Sam's eyes drifted closed, heavy. "Saved you."

"Crowley, what do we got to do?"

Panicked, Sam forced his eyes open. "No, Dean, no. Promise me. You have to promise me. No deals, no possessions. I can't do that again. Pleeeease. Dean, please." He wasn't against openly pleading over this because he couldn't…he just couldn't. Not again. "Please. Promise me." His throat was coated with tears. His voice trembled.

Dean stared at him devastated, caught between keeping Sam alive and keeping his trust.

"Sam." He closed his eyes, bowing his head as though the weight of choices was too much to bear. "Okay." His voice was a small fissure of wretchedness. "Okay. I promise. Your hear me, Sam, I promise." A small tear rolled down the side of his nose.

"Thanks, Dean." Sam felt himself drifting away again, secure in the knowledge that he'd finally done something right. He saved his brother from an eternity as a demon. And if the cost was his life, he was okay with that. He had known how it would play out before he walked into this bar and he was content.

"Well that was all fluffy kittens and rainbows." Crowley's voice floated like clouds above him. "So no deals. Deals with you muttonheads tend to backfire anyway. When I said I could keep Sam alive, I meant transport him to hospital. No deals. No muss. If regular human doctoring can save him, good for them. If they can't, I'll send a floral arrangement. But it's a better alternative than bleeding out here on the floor. All you have to do is release me from this sodding devil's trap and I blink us all to the best trauma center in the west."

Dean stared at Sam, his eyes full of desperate hope. So human. Sam gazed back, waiting for Dean to answer Crowley when he realized that Dean was looking to Sam for permission. So much love and trust swarmed into his chest it hurt.

"Please," Dean stared, pleading when Sam didn't say anything. "You got to give me this. No deals, like I promised, but you got to give me this." His entire countenance lifted at Sam's faint nod. His shoulders slumped in relief and then he was a whirl of action, rushing to get over to the devil's trap and scrape through the lines, then he was back again, nodding at Crowley and holding onto Sam, murmuring, "Just hold on. Keep fighting for me, gonna get you fixed up…"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~SPN~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Moose bleeding out over here," Crowley bellowed.

Dean blinked. They were in a curtained area of an emergency room. Sam was on a gurney, his long body curled into itself over the long jagged wound.

Personnel in scrubs all turned to look at them.

"Chop chop, people," Crowley reiterated, his fine dark suit standing out among the stark whites and pastels of everything in the place. "The boy needs help here."

The room erupted into a flurry of action and questions. _"How'd you get in here? What happened?"_

Crowley answered them with the ease of an eternal liar while Dean stared at the activity in a daze, Crowley's voice echoing in the surrealness of it all. _"…driving down the road…waved me down. These farmers…tell by the flannel?...this one fell on haying equipment…no cell service…I, being a good Samaritan brought them…"_

Everything became a humming burr as IVs were hooked up, vitals and blood swiftly taken, oxygen given, until a nurse tried to get Dean to move from where he'd been standing at the top of the gurney with his blood-crusted palm on the crown of Sam's head.

"Sir, we need to take him now."

"Take him?"

"To surgery. Weren't you listening?"

"I…"

"Someone will be in with the paperwork soon, but we can't wait. Please, this way."

Sam's broken hand lifted, searching, until Dean took his hand in his own. Those light hazels latched onto him, accepting. Sam's rapid breathing fogged the inside of the oxygen mask.

Dean looked to the nurses. "Can I stay with him?"

The nurse looked at the anesthesiologist for support, then sighed. "Just until he's out."

"Which should be in…" the anesthesiologist started counting down. "Four, three, two…"

Sam's eyes drifted shut. His hand went lax within Dean's.

"Okay, let's go."

Reluctantly, Dean placed Sam's hand on the gurney and watched as they rolled him away, helpless to do anything.

Another nurse came and showed him where the surgical waiting room was. He signed papers at the arrows, not really knowing what he was signing…just the hope that they could save his brother, but all their faces and glances toward him had been respectful. They didn't have high expectations.

No one else waited for a loved one in the special waiting area. He didn't know where Crowley had gotten off to, couldn't recall the moment he was no longer there. Scooting to the edge of the chair, he rested his elbows on his knees and interlocked his fingers at the back of his neck. Time ticked away.

A hand curled over his shoulder. "Dean."

He twisted his head to the side to look up at the angel. "Cas." He had no emotion left to summon at seeing his friend again.

Castiel smiled sadly. "You look…"

"Human," Dean supplied tiredly.

"Worried." Castiel sank into the chair beside Dean. "But human too, yes. It's good to see you."

Dean nodded. "Why are you here?"

"Do you not know?" Castiel squinted sideways at Dean. "I'm here for Sam. When Crowley told me—"

"Crowley sent you?"

Castiel nodded. "I found it strange as well. Nevertheless, I am going to heal Sam."

The lethargy flew out of Dean at that. When Castiel appeared it should have been the first thing Dean asked, but he'd been too numb, too full of despair for it to have entered his mind. He latched onto Cas's arm. "Can you? You will?"

Castiel looked at him like he was trying to decipher how much humanity remained within Dean after months of being a demon, puzzling why he needed to ask such a thing of him. "Of course." He inclined his head. "Would you like to accompany me?"

"The doctors…"

"Will not see you."

"Yes, Cas. Yes. I want to come."

In the space of a breath they were in the operating room. Above his surgical mask, the surgeon's eyes were grim. The atmosphere was subdued, anxious.

Between surgical cloths, Sam's stomach was open, mangled red internal organs and brownish betadine colored skin. Dean turned away, choking down his gag reflex and focused on Sam's face. They had his hair in one of those flimsy shower cap things and his nose and mouth covered by an oxygen mask, another tube ran out the side of his mouth. His dark lashes fanned out below his eyes in half-circles.

Out like this, he looked peaceful. Dean couldn't remember the last time he had seen Sam at peace. A hard coil pressed hot against his sternum. His brother was a miracle. He didn't give up. He kept at it until he found a way. Sam had saved him. He still wasn't exactly sure how, but he had done it. Tears prickled at his eyes.

He glanced at Castiel who was staring at the open wound in concentration. Lines furrowed his brow. His lips turned down. His hand hovered over Sam's abdomen. "I cannot do it."

"What?"

Castiel looked to Dean, his eyes carrying a heaviness he hadn't seen since before he released the Leviathans and had been lying to them for months. "It's a supernatural wound, caused by the first blade. My powers have no effect."

Just then the constant bleeping of the monitors sped up. The surgeon's and the technicians' heads all jerked up before they exchanged worried glances.

Dean's heart sped up right along with the blips of Sam's pulse.

Castiel's lips thinned, taking on a determined line. "I cannot heal the wound itself, but I can moderate his blood pressure." He waved a palm above Sam's chest and the machines started slowing. "And enhance his immunities, take away the start of any infections…"

"He's stable again," one of the nurses stated. "BP is…"

Dean scrutinized every word she said, studying the monitors to make sure she got every stat right.

"All right people, we've given him the best chance we have," the surgeon stated. "The rest is up to him. Let's close up."

"Wait." Castiel leaned close to the surgeon. "You've missed something." He actually took the surgeon's gloved hand and moved it over to the far side of the wound, pressing the thin instrument he held in deep. "There is a small tear still bleeding from his spleen."

Dean couldn't bear to look into the wound so he glanced at the screen that showed the small surgical camera feed instead, trying to see what the angel felt was wrong.

"Wait," the surgeon echoed Castiel's words. "I missed something…"

For another thirty minutes the surgical team worked while Dean paced, his nerves frayed, until Castiel finally announced that they were finished, echoed by the surgeon exclaiming the same.

"Close up. I've got to go speak with the brother." He began stripping off his gloves.

Dean knew he didn't have much longer so rested his palm across Sam's covered hair and leaned in close to his temple. "You keep fighting for me, Sammy. You hear me? You beat the mark of Cain. You can beat this." His voice choked. He cleared his throat. "I'll be right with you the whole time, little brother. We'll beat this together."

He kissed Sam's forehead then looked to Castiel. "Take me back to the waiting room."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Brothers Forever~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Voices drifted around him.

"From my interpretation of human behavior, bedside vigils are not meant to be rushed."

"But they're boring."

"Do not awaken your brother before he is ready. His body has been through a great—Dean."

Sam felt knuckles graze along his cheek and a voice close. "I'm his brother. I say when he's ready to wake up and he's ready now. Aren't you, Sammy? I saw your nose starting to scrunch."

Dean.

Sam tried to open his eyes but barely got a flutter, which was fine by him. He was so tired.

"Come on, I see you trying. Got to do better than that."

It sounded like Dean was right there with him, which was nice, amazing really. He'd give anything for it to be true.

"Sam, come on, man." Exasperation tugged at Dean's voice, making Sam smile.

He opened his eyes to a worried green gaze. "Dean?" His brother looked so real, yet he couldn't be. He had to save him. He knew how now. Cain told him… "Dean?" His forehead tightened. He tried to sit up and shards of ice stabbed inside his belly. The loopy happy feeling seeped away.

"Hey." Strong hands eased him back down. "Take it easy. You with me this time?"

Unnerved that he was having a really vivid hallucination, Sam trembled. "No. I'm not with you. I have to save you."

"Sam." A pause. "You did save me. Don't you remember? You walked right into the first blade when I was swinging it, which by the way, was incredibly stupid. You could have died."

"Which was the whole point. I was supposed to—" He stopped, blinked, as everything that happened ran through his brain. He had done it? "Dean?"

Dean's smile brimmed with affection. "Yeah. You getting it now?"

Sam looked from Dean to Castiel behind him, realizing they were both there. They were both really there. "You're real? And…human?"

"Yeah, Sammy. I'm here. You're here. We're both—oooofff—"

Sam didn't let Dean finish because he was too busy pushing up again, heedless of the pain and wrapping himself around his brother, clinging like he hadn't since he was a child, his face pressed hard into the familiar scent of laundered cotton and Dean.

Dean's arms snaked around Sam, holding on just as fiercely. He lowered his jaw to rest on top of Sam's head. "Yeah, okay. I gotcha. We'll talk about how little brothers aren't supposed to sacrifice themselves later."

_**FIN**_

Usual Disclaimers: Don't own these characters or the Supernatural world at all. Just having a grand time playing.


End file.
